


Time Travel Acts and Dolphin Facts

by Supernaturalist1234



Category: American Assassin (2017), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Mitch Rapp, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Awkward Flirting, Don't Have to Know Canon, First Kiss, For American Assassin, Gen, Hopeful Ending, How Do I Tag, It isn't addressed though, Kinda underage? Not really because time travel, M/M, Mitch is 25 turned 20, Nerd Mitch Rapp, Nerd Stiles Stilinski, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Stiles is 20 turned 15/16, Stiles technically turns 16 during the fic, Teen Wolf Canon is kinda important, Time Travel, mentions of canon ships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26087497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supernaturalist1234/pseuds/Supernaturalist1234
Summary: Stiles and Mitch are sent back in time by the Nemeton, months before the first episode of Teen Wolf. They now have to deal with each other, and being back in their younger selves.
Relationships: Mitch Rapp & Stiles Stilinski, Mitch Rapp/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	Time Travel Acts and Dolphin Facts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheCookieOfDoom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCookieOfDoom/gifts).



> Happy (now belated) Birthday! Originally posted on Tumblr.

Mitch is never going to be used to being 20 again. He wasn’t even used to it the first time around. He had presented late, only realizing he’s an alpha when he was 18. So of course, this is right around when he started figuring out what exactly that meant, and it’s weird. Time travel in general is  _ weird.  _ Mitch still feels older, physically he still has the same abilities he had. He just doesn’t  _ look  _ like he does. Don’t ask Mitch how that works, he doesn’t know. Stiles would probably know. 

And that’s the other thing he isn’t going to get used to. Mieczyslaw “Stiles” Stilinski is definitely on the stranger side of people Mitch has met. And that is almost an understatement. 

The teenager was seemingly right at the heart of everything going on in California, always there when anything went wrong. And almost always the cause when something went right. From the file Mitch had gotten, he had somehow been labeled as incredibly dangerous, and someone to keep an eye on. Which is what Mitch was supposed to do. And all he saw was someone who was a bit spastic, who hung out with a multitude of supernatural creatures, and who probably had far more secrets than anyone realized.

Mysterious? Yes. Dangerous? Probably not. 

Mitch had been planning on reporting that back when something happened. Another person on their radar, Morell, and Stiles’ friend Scott interacted. Somewhat explosively. Literally. Mitch isn’t sure exactly what happened, but he knows that it was bad. Bad enough that Stiles went back to Beacon Hills, going to the forest in the middle of the night. Mitch had read up on the preserve, having heard one of the other people Stiles spent time with mention something called a nemeton. What he didn’t know is why Stiles is going there. 

His first mistake was following Stiles there. His second was agreeing to help. 

_ The woman laughed, light and humorless, the sound like what Mitch imagined the inside of an empty bottle would sound like. He doesn’t know what’s going on, having come in what looks like halfway through the conversation.  _

_ Stiles looks determined, glaring at the willowy figure before them. Mitch doesn’t try to interrupt the moment, but he does anyway. Two sets of eyes turn to him, one whiskey-colored and the other a blank grey. Now Stiles just looks exasperated.  _

_ “Oh great. My FBI agent decided to come. How wonderful,” He rolls his eyes, completely missing Mitch blinking at him in a bit of confusion.  _

_ “CIA, actually,” Mitch corrects. Strange women with electric auras and crazed-looking teenagers trapped in a black landscape with him? Alright, time to adjust. No need to react, just yet.  _

_ “I decline your offer, Mieczysław,” She speaks the same way she laughs, bemusement in every word yet no emotion, breathy almost.  _

_ Stiles snaps his head back, opening his mouth to argue, probably. Mitch stays quiet now, curious as to what exactly Stiles had offered. Based on what is going on and where Mitch was, he’s assuming that the woman is the nemeton. He hadn’t read anything about it being sentient, or at least not to this level, but magic tree stumps will just have to go on his resume because he is not leaving now.  _

_ The nemeton holds up a hand, silencing Stiles before he can start.  _

_ “I will, however, make a counteroffer,” Stiles gives her a suspicious look, so Mitch refrains from doing so despite feeling the same.  _

_ “You can go back,” She smiles, and it is as creepy as Mitch thought it would be. Stiles blinks, standing up a bit straighter from his almost hunchback posture.  _

_ “What?” Mitch has a sneaking suspicion he isn’t going to like where this is going.  _

_ “You can go back. You’ll be young again, you can make different choices. And once you reach this point in time, or you die, you can decide if this is that is the future you want or if you want this one,” The nemeton mentions Stiles death like it’s nothing. Like it’s an inside joke between them. Which, judging by the wince from Stiles, it just might be. Mitch will have to look at that later.  _

_ “No one but you will have their memories, so you’ll have to figure it out on your own. And you can’t tell anyone from this present either, though I suspect you already knew that,” She’s still smiling. Mitch glances at Stiles who has a considerate look on his face.  _

_ “Hold on,” Mitch speaks up, stepping closer to the pair. Stiles turns to him, while the nemeton just looks off into the distance near him. “Messing with the timeline is never a good idea, and I’m not sure it’s this one that should be messing with it,” Mitch gestures to Stiles, who frowns at him.  _

_ “Alright, so you can go back as well,” the nemeton responds quickly, as though she already knew what he was going to say. She probably did.  _

_ “What?!” Stiles and Mitch both turn to her, shock evident on their faces.  _

_ “One person to help who has an outsider point of view would probably be a good idea,” She stops smiling, but it doesn’t add anything to her appearance. “So Mitch may go back as well if he prefers. It’s his decision, Mieczysław. You will make yours,” Hearing his name come out of her mouth is uncomfortable, but he focuses more on what she’s offering. Stiles is looking back and forth between them, pained.  _

_ “Okay.”  _

So now he’s back in time, with one Stilinski. Two, technically, but he hasn’t officially met the Sheriff despite knowing the name of his first pet and all that comes after it. Three if you count the grandpa, but not even Stiles counts that one so Mitch isn’t either. And so he is going to help change the future to stop whatever fate was so awful Stiles made a deal with a corporeal being of magic. 

Mitch is probably going to regret that decision. He might already regret that decision. Now all he has to do is convince Stiles to let him help. It might be harder than he expects, given the death glare he had been on the receiving end of. 

* * *

Stiles hates Mitch. He really, really does. Like, seriously. Not even kidding. Being back to 15 and recently omega is weird, and having to deal with everything that entails is hard enough, but Mitch is always right at the periphery. Stiles goes to the grocery store? Boom, Mitch is in the produce aisle. At school? Parking lot in his car, bleachers on the opposite side,  _ outside the window.  _ At his house? Yup, he’s somewhere around here, just look. 

It reminds him of Lilo and Stitch if he’s honest. And he’d use that metaphor on Mitch to compare him to Jumba and Pleakley if that didn’t make Stiles Stitch. 

It had been annoying enough in the present when Mitch had actually been good at keeping himself secret, he just underestimated Stiles. Now Mitch was just straight-up  _ there.  _ Sometimes Stiles thought Mitch might just be an apparition that only Stiles could see. Neither his dad nor Scott nor anyone else he was around ever noticed Mitch, and that made it doubly awful. But he isn’t going to accept Mitch’s help. They might end up working together from pure necessity, but this is Stiles's job and he is going to do it well. He’s just going to ignore Mitch. 

Except he can’t. Because he’s the only thing that makes  _ sense  _ right now. Apparition alpha from what is now the future following Stiles is far easier to handle than Scott having asthma, or Lydia Martin being the “dumb, pretty queen bee”, or Jackson acting like a jackass again. Because how on earth is he supposed to deal with this. 

Being back in this space, this mindset, even if he has his future abilities and thoughts, is messing with his head. And what he thought he knew. 

Stiles had been in love with Lydia at this point in time, or at least he thought he was. But then she grew as a person, became kinder and less afraid to show who she really was. She became confident,  _ really _ confident, not just armor, and understood her power. This one didn’t have that. This one acted shallow, probably is a bit shallow, and was quite frankly a bit mean. Stiles still loves her, just not this her. And not in the same way. 

But he still has to act like it. Act like he is lovesick. He’s hoping he can edge it off a bit, make it so it’s a natural transition, but right now he can’t do that. 

And he can’t even talk to anybody about it. He could, he supposes, make up a lie for Scott that’s close enough to the truth that he might feel better or get some advice, and this Scott isn’t Allison-ified yet so he would actually listen to Stiles. But he just can’t bring himself too. There’s just this detachment there. This isn’t his Scott, but at the same time, it is. Because this is the happy one before all his choices got taken away. This is also the nervous and unsure one who isn’t an Alpha in any retrospect, werewolf, or normal. 

And Stiles is out of water in every way. 

Except for Mitch. Who he very much hates, no matter how ridiculously attractive he is. (Stiles has eyes, okay? The alpha is hot. But personality more than negates that) 

Because he  _ knows.  _ Mitch knows what’s going to happen. He knows what Stiles is going through, at least in the physical retrospect. Mitch knows things about his life that Stiles didn’t even know, which should freak him out but instead just makes it easier to accept Mitch being there. Stiles doesn’t have to act a certain way, or not speak about a certain thing, or avoid certain topics because Mitch already knows that it’s fake. Even in the present, Mitch had known things that Stiles didn’t tell people. CIA or FBI or whatever. How they knew Stiles is curious about, but he doesn’t really care right now. 

And that makes Mitch hateable and likable at the same time. Because he is so annoying, but he’s annoying in a way that’s just annoying. Not painful. Interacting with anything in this town, especially in this past, feels like a hot knife going through various body parts. Being with Mitch just makes Stiles want to bang his head against the wall. 

So when Scott gives him concerned puppy eyes, or his dad asks him why he’s being so quiet, or when he has to drive around town, be in the school, see Coach Finstock, heck, when Greenburg does something stupid that really shouldn’t be painful in any way but second-hand embarrassment, Stiles can just look for the Alpha shadow that he has. He doesn’t let Mitch know that he looks for him, but Stiles still does. 

So Stiles hates Mitch. But he can’t. And that pisses him off because he totally should be able to. 

* * *

Mitch, admittedly, is not focusing very hard on the papers in his hand. He can’t help it when every few minutes his eyes flick up to the illuminated house down the block. The Stilinski household looks a bit different then in the photos he had been given, but Mitch can’t be sure if that was faulty photography, the bad lighting, or the timing difference. Maybe a mix of all three. 

He sighs in frustration, letting his head thump back against the headrest. He closes his eyes for a minute, letting cool air from the rentals’ vents brush over him. He never got the hype over the whole “new car smell” thing. To him it always smells impersonal, lacking the nuances of scent that people just generally had. 

Mitch shakes his head, going back to reread the same passage for the fourth time. He is just starting to retain the information when the door opens behind him. He tenses, hand not holding the papers slipping down to the gun he had hidden between the door and the chair. He keeps the casual position, not wanting to show he’s taken by surprise. 

The smell of lavender and woods after a long rain, with a hint of something acidic, assaults his senses. Mitch keeps the papers but lets his hand relax its hold on the gun. To be honest, he is a tad surprised. Mitch has been very obvious about following Stiles during the day, irritatingly so, but these night visits not as much. Secretive, almost. More erratic with the schedule, sometimes not coming, sometimes only staying for a little while, switching cars constantly, things like that. Not even the Sheriff had noticed.

But here Stiles is. Mitch hadn’t seen any doors open and hadn’t seen him coming. He could have climbed through the window easily enough, had plenty of times, but did he climb through backyards? Run quickly enough over while Mitch was distracted? Have a secret underground tunnel that he had dug beneath Mitch’s car with precognition of him parking in this exact spot? Anything could have happened. 

“We’re getting curly fries,” Stiles is sitting in the middle of Mitch’s backseat, looking for all the world like he owns the place. It’s hard to make out the exact details of his face from just the periphery of his vision, and Mitch isn’t giving Stiles the satisfaction of looking at him. Not yet, at least. 

“Are we now.” Mitch turns the page in the file, knowing the lack of urgency would be annoying to Stiles, which is exactly what he wants, but Mitch doesn’t want to outright ignore him either. (That would just set Stiles off. And not in the fun way.) Stiles glares at him, and Mitch notices the black holes under his eyes. Raccoon would be generous. 

“I can’t sleep, I don’t feel like driving, and you are going to be sitting outside my house like a stalker anyways,” Stiles huffs, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Mitch looks back at him leisurely. 

“So we’re getting curly fries. And a milkshake. And cheese curds. Not because I want them-” Stiles waves his arms around, emphasizing his point- “but because you’re an alien and I can’t believe you’ve never had them before.” Mitch raises an eyebrow at that, not even bothering to restrain the slight smirk in place. Still not saying anything. 

“So get  _ going _ , Alpha! We don’t got all night,” Stiles gestures again, exasperated. Mitch narrows his eyes, the slight upturn of his lips deepening. Stiles is quite possibly the only Omega- scratch that, the only  _ person _ he knows who throws around classifications like it's nothing. Mitch stares at him for a moment more, letting the silence stretch, before nodding, turning back around. 

“Alright,” He responds lightly, pushes the car into drive, moving his hands to the wheel. He starts driving to the diner just outside of town, not needing Stiles to clarify. Mitch remembers the very erratic rant of ‘The one in town always puts too much salt,  _ and  _ they are soggy. Not to mention the absolute abhorrent treatment of their omega and beta waitstaff-’ it had lasted a solid four minutes. Mitch was mildly impressed by Stiles’s lack of need for air. If Stiles notices the fact that Mitch had been listening he doesn’t point it out. 

“Put your seatbelt on,” Mitch takes the turn out of the neighborhood, not bothering to be sneaky. Not like it would do much if someone was suspicious of them anyhow.

“...What?” Stiles shifts, eyebrows furrowed. Mitch rolls his eyes, something he’s sure Stiles can see. 

“Put your seatbelt on.” Stiles blinks at him like he seriously can’t believe the travesty that is Mitch telling him to put on his seatbelt. He glances back and forth between the back of Mitch’s head and the seatbelt incredulously. Mitch almost laughs at the dramatics. 

“I’m not  _ three.  _ It isn’t that far away,” Stiles scoffs, crossing his arms and leaning back in a way that contradicts his previous age statement. 

“I don’t care, put it on,” Mitch fans his hands out on the wheel, shrugging. “My car, my rules.” It’s Stiles's turn to roll his eyes. But he does it, scooching to the side behind Mitch and pulling out the seatbelt a tad aggressively. Mitch smirks again when it clicks into place, glancing into the mirror to fully appreciate that Stiles is giving him a ‘There, you happy?’ glare. 

They sit in silence for long enough that Mitch starts discreetly checking every so often that the teenager is still alive. Mitch doesn’t like seeing him this still. Stiles is looking out the window, face dark. The streetlights occasionally run over his face, but it doesn’t add any light to his eyes. They come upon the station. 

It, too, looks different than the photos Mitch had seen before they got sent back. But structurally, as opposed to just the general feel. They must have taken the explosion as an opportunity to redecorate. Mitch is glad they did, this is a bit of an eyesore. He checks in again, this time from the side mirror. As far as Mitch has seen, Stiles hasn’t been actively avoiding the place. But he wasn’t going out of his way to go there either. The grimace on his face attests to as much. 

Mitch flicks on his blinker, the older car doing it with a strange click that brings back some odd nostalgic memories. “So.” Mitch starts, coming up on the stoplight, braking. “What does your dad think of you sneaking out your window in the middle of the night with strange men?” He turns around fully this time, having ample opportunity with the slow light that only seemed to exist in small towns. 

Stiles startles, looking at him, obviously forgetting Mitch was even there. He watches as the words register, resulting in a frown and a slightly heated glare. 

“Shut up,” Stiles mumbles, reaching forward and snatching the (confidential, mind you) files from the passenger seat. Mitch doesn’t even bother trying to get them back, turning back to the road with a small smile that he makes sure Stiles can’t see as they keep driving on the backstreets of Beacon Hills. 

“Who even tries to kill anyone with a spork?” Stiles says, sounding so unimpressed Mitch snorts, taking the next exit. He almost misses the quiet. 

* * *

Stiles stares at his ceiling. His ceiling, the rude piece of shit it is, stares back. Or maybe he’s just tired. He’s not entirely sure. He turns to the side, his alarm clock bright in the dark. Three am is not a new time for Stiles, not since middle school, but he can’t help but feel restless. He’s never bought into the propaganda that omegas need to always have some type of alpha presence with them, whether it be an alpha themself or an article of clothing. But that is what pops into his head. It’s bullshit, painting it as though omegas are weak and need the stronger alpha to come save them, when in reality alphas need that type of contact too, not to mention it excludes betas. Most people, Stiles included, would just roll their eyes at it. But… well, you’ll believe anything if it’s early enough in the morning. So Stiles considers it a possibility. 

Mostly, though, he thinks he just got used to having the presence. 

Scott and Stiles had been stealing clothes from the other long before presenting, and Scott was just a tactile person in general. Too tactile, sometimes, but that was more of a Stiles thing. Malia had been more than happy to lend him sweaters or jackets or whatever other things he could want, sometimes even wearing  _ his  _ clothes around long enough for them to smell like her before giving them back. Lydia had on more than one occasion ushered him away to braid her hair or help her with research, often making a night out of it. Betas, alphas, other omegas, they all made up the whole pack. And while they had had their issues, it was theirs. And they tried to be there for each other, without even realizing it sometimes. 

But now that doesn’t even exist. And might not even exist, if Stiles messes this up. It certainly won’t exist in the same way even if he doesn’t. He stops that thought process before it even starts. He had already nearly spiraled down that slope, he doesn’t need to do it again. Stiles does, however, allow himself to acknowledge that he is in a very different and, yeah okay, kinda hard situation. He could call Scott, but it’s not like it’d do much. Scott hasn’t presented yet in this timeline, and wouldn’t even know what to do here. Most of the pack Stiles hasn’t met yet. Malia is probably still in the woods. And Lydia doesn’t even know he exists, let alone like him. 

Stiles doesn’t know what he’s doing as he grabs his phone from his side table, but his body is on autopilot. He opens his messages, hovering over the third one down. 

Ah. So that’s what he’s doing. It doesn’t elude him that this is now the second time he is going to Mitch after a near spiral, even if the standoff-ish alpha isn’t aware of it. Stiles, however, is choosing to ignore that fact. He clicks on the contact. He’s so tired he’s in that stage where he isn't tired anymore. His favorite mind cycle. 

_ ‘mitch? r u awake?’ _

Stiles nearly types ‘u up?’ but catches himself before he does. Everyone knows that that is universal hook up language. Stiles had spent way too much time explaining that to first Scott, then later to Liam. He’s just lucky that Malia had figured it out for herself. Stiles sits up to grab his computer to Wikipedia random things until school time when his phone buzzes. He does not jump for his phone, though a small instinct tells him to. 

_ ‘I’m always awake. What’s going on?’  _

Stiles raises an eyebrow. Of course, Mitch would be the “proper texter” type. And of course, he automatically assumes there’s danger. Though, considering their situation and just Stiles as a person, it's not a bad instinct. 

_ ‘nothin, just awake and angry at the world XP’ _

Stiles sends the text without really thinking about it, though a curl of anxiety goes through his gut. It’s a rather  _ familiar  _ way of texting. As though they’re friends.  _ Are  _ they friends? The label doesn’t seem to fit right, but it’s not like strangers fit either. Acquaintances is far too impersonal, as are coworkers. So Stiles guesses that friends it is now...? Label issues aside, even if they are friends, they certainly aren’t the type to text at 3 in the morning for no reason. Or even text. (Seriously, are they friends?) But Stiles’ phone buzzes again all the same. 

_ ‘When are you not angry at the world?’  _

And as quickly as the worry came it disappears. Stiles can practically hear the teasing tone that Mitch loves to use to annoy him. He types out a response, leaning back against the headboard. 

_ ‘when im asleep’  _

Stiles doesn’t even fully close out of the app before a response pops up. 

_ ‘...Fair. However, I would like to point out that that is a bit of a paradox.’  _

Stiles snorts, shaking his head. 

_ ‘how? show me the proof’  _

The typing bubble pops up again. Stiles sends his phone a disbelieving smile. “What is even happening?” His voice is loud in the still room, but the house is empty right now so he doesn’t mind. He looks up at the ceiling again. “I don’t suppose you have an answer.” The ceiling, once again, just ignores him. Go figure.

_ ‘You are mad at the world all the time, except for when you’re asleep. You being awake equals you being mad at the world. These two points are not mutually exclusive. And yet they share a common factor. You said that you are not mad at the world when you’re asleep, but that does not work as the world does not exist in its same format as in dreams. Most people don’t even remember their dreams. So you could be mad at the world, and it still won’t be the same as when you’re awake. So by saying that you are contradicting yourself.’  _

Stiles stares down at the screen. Reading and rereading the words. They don’t compute but somehow are written in such a way that Stiles thinks it should make sense. He types out a catch-all response, just in case he doesn’t get it. It feels vaguely like judgment, so he just goes with that. 

_ ‘ok, dr phil. but thats not a paradox’  _

Stiles hopes it isn’t, at least. It’s a 50/50 chance that Mitch is messing with him. He tries reading it again, just to double-check. 

_ ‘Then what would you call it?’  _

Stiles pauses at that. He gets up, moving across the room to his desk. He opens his laptop, waiting for the incredibly slow loading screen. He misses his old(new?) tech. He’s just lucky his phone works the same. He tries to find an answer, but after two minutes he gives up.

_ ‘idk. but not that’  _

He keeps going through the websites that come up, even daring to go to the second page. He stops, though, at the pop-up message that links through his computer. 

_ ‘You’re googling it right now, aren’t you?’  _

Stiles feels that textual eye roll to the very core of his being. He pouts at the screens since no one is there to see it anyways. 

_ ‘noooooo’ _

_ ‘...maybe’ _

Stiles gets up again, the laptop is momentarily forgotten. He is not pacing, waiting for his phone. He is not. It just helps him think, and he has to prove Mitch wrong. 

_ ‘Mmhm. Sure. Whatever you say.’  _

Stiles scoffs at his phone, because seriously? 

_ ‘u dont get to sarcastically text, thats my job’ _

And okay, maybe that’s a tad childish, but give him a break. Mitch started it anyhow, Stiles had just been trying to complain. 

_ ‘Oh really? I wasn’t aware you owned sarcasm. I’m terribly sorry, I’ll correct it right away.’  _

Stiles narrows his eyes. Now who’s being childish? 

_ ‘stop’ _

Stiles doesn’t know if he actually wants Mitch to stop or not, but he has a feeling that Mitch has the upper hand in this conversation so he’s going to say it anyway. How do you gain the upper hand in messaging? (Probably by being Mitch.) 

_ ‘Stop what? I am simply giving you a response. Shall I stop texting?’  _

Stiles stops his pacing, blinking at his phone. Okay, passive-aggressive sarcasm. Didn’t know Mitch could do that. Except Stiles did, because Mitch has done it multiple times. 

_ ‘oh it is on, rapp’  _

Though this feels different. More playful, less antagonizing. 

_ ‘If I remember correctly, you started this.’  _

Stiles does not smile at his phone. He doesn’t. He looks out his window, considering. His room feels too small. And if he’s being completely honest, he doesn’t want to even really be here right now. Stiles makes his way over to his window, opening the pane all the way. He had pushed the screen layer out when he first came back, so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. Like now, when he is climbing up onto the ledge of his roof. Stiles knows it isn’t safe, he just doesn’t particularly care. 

_ ‘so u admit that there is a “this”’ _

Stiles settles back against the shingles, his legs spread out. It feels more comfortable then it has any right to. He looks up at the stars. If there ever were upsides to Beacon Hills, the sky would be near the top of the list. 

_ ‘You’re incorrigible.’  _

Adjective. Not being able to be corrected, improved, or reformed. A fancy word for pain in the ass. 

_ ‘dont try to out nerd the nerd. you will fail’ _

Mitch might know some words, and be pretty good at sarcasm when he wants to, but he isn’t Stiles. He has been able to sass back better than anyone since before he figured out what it was. 

_ ‘I repeat your early statement. Bring it on, Stilinski.’  _

Stiles grins. 

_ ‘did u know that dolphins have two stomachs and never chew their food?’  _

Hyperfixation from 7th grade after his history teacher called them stupid. He never liked that teacher and proved her wrong with a four-page paper on the mammal. The look on Mrs. Mags’s face was well worth the failed grade. She was far too salty about being shown up by a 13-year-old. 

_ ‘Bubblegum is made from the same material as car tires.’  _

Stiles purses his lips. That’s actually an interesting fact. Gross. But interesting. The exact kind of fact Stiles loved. Or does love? Time is confusing. 

_ ‘Orcas r dolphins.’  _

He had been hoping to save this one as a showstopper, having debated back and forth with his Dad, Melissa, and Scott. But Mitch is proving to be better than he thought. 

_ ‘What? No way.’ _

Stiles shifts his leg up, holding his phone against it. A light breeze runs past him, the cool air waking him up that last bit. 

_ ‘yes way. they’re in the dolphinae family. according to all scientists ever, that makes them dolphins’  _

5th-grade science teacher had a hard-on for Carl Linneaus and made them memorize the classification system as well as the proper way to classify different animals. 

_ ‘They are called killer whales.’  _

Stiles grins. Hook, line, and sinker. 

_ ‘mistranslation. they were originally seen killing whales, were called “whale killers” but because language is stupid and no one bothers to properly learn it, it was written as “killer whale”. fyi, they are carnivorous not omnivorous’  _

It takes Stiles longer to type this then he is proud of, but it’s still sent in less than four minutes. So he’s counting it as a win. 

_ ‘Fascinating. But I sense a sensitive subject. You have a thing for mistranslations?’  _

Stiles narrows his eyes because Mitch is obviously going somewhere with this. 

_ ‘maybe. why?’ _

Mitch’s typing bubble is up for a few minutes before disappearing again. Stiles hesitantly clicks out of the messaging app. He goes to settings, changing his passcodes again. 

_ ‘Then you must hate the idea of Martians.’  _

Stiles blinks down at his phone. Consider his interest peaked. He looks back at his settings. He clicks on Sounds. Mitch hasn’t called him yet, having no need to due to being constantly around(read: shadowing) Stiles, but Stiles still feels as though he needs a special ringtone. Stiles looks through what he has. The Mission Impossible theme would be just to the left of funny on-the-nose, and to the right of cheesy. He clicks through a few more songs, letting them play for some time while he waits for Mitch to explain. 

_ ‘In 1877, an Italian astronomer named Giovanni Schiaparelli wrote that there appeared to be canali on Mars. Later, when reread, it was interpreted to mean canals and sent everyone scrambling to identify the life on Mars that could have made these canals. Except the  _ [ _ _ ](https://www.rosettastone.com/learn-italian/) _ Italian word canali is just a general term to describe channels, which can be part of the natural terrain and not necessarily man-made. The idea of life on Mars, however, has long outlived the legend of this mistranslation.’  _

_ ‘Can your orcas beat that?’  _

Stiles lets out a startled laugh. Because that is quite possibly the last thing he expected Mitch to know. He looks up at the sky, imagining he can see Mars even though geographically he can’t. He goes back to settings, clicking on Diva by Beyonce. Mitch would never have to know. 

_ ‘ok, maybe not. u are a worthy opponent, young padawan.’  _

He rifles through his mental index of facts, which is vast, while waiting for Mitch to respond. Stiles still doesn’t know exactly what it is that they are doing.

_ ‘I’m older than you. And I still haven’t seen Star Blares, or whatever it’s called.’  _

Stiles huffs, because how dare Mitch. 

_ ‘u know its called Star Wars u heathen’  _

The response is lightning fast this time. The jerk probably knew what Stiles was going to say and pre-typed it beforehand. 

_ ‘You’re the one who challenged me. If you want to forfeit, I’ll gladly take the win.’  _

Stiles glares at his phone. Mitch is  _ so  _ not allowed to win. He types faster, letting his phone take care of the typos. 

_ ‘why did the chicken cross the mobius strip’  _

Stiles never thought it would come to this, but Mitch has forced his hand. 

He is resorting to science puns. 

_ ‘Why?’  _

He took the bait. Now Stiles must catch the fish. A sneaky, unfairly hot alpha fish. But fish have gills, and those are weird, so hah! 

_ ‘to get to the same side. what do u do with a sick chemist’  _

Stiles is not going to slow down; this is his battle, and he has years of research on Mitch on this one. Though technically it’s fewer years than it would have been in the present. But mentally it’s still the same. Kinda. Time travel is weird, okay? 

_ ‘What do you do?’  _

Stiles takes some time to spell the names correctly. Okay, yes, he spell-checks his chemicals but not his everyday texts. Sue him. 

_ ‘if u can’t helium, and u can’t curium, then u might as well just barium’  _

_ ‘two chemists walk into a bar. one asks for h2O. the other asks for h2O too. the 2nd one dies’ _

Stiles laughs a bit at his own jokes. He waits for a response but types his last joke in the notes app so Mitch can’t see that he has another one. Stiles wants it ready to go. He can’t let up now, Stiles has the alpha right where he wants him. 

_ ‘Those are awful. A play on words stopped being clever years ago.’  _

“As if! And besides, we time traveled, so even if it was true, it isn’t anymore!” Stiles grumps to the sky. It is as just unresponsive as his ceiling, but it’s pretty so Stiles isn’t going to get annoyed with it. 

_ ‘heisenberg and schrodinger get pulled over for speeding. the cop asks heisenberg "do you know how fast you were going?" heisenberg replies "No, but we know exactly where we are!" the officer looks at him, confused, and says "you were going 108 miles per hour!" heisenberg throws his arms up and cries "great! now we're lost!" the officer looks over to the car and asks schrodinger if the two men have anything in the trunk. "a cat", schrodinger replies. the cop opens the trunk and yells “hey! this cat is dead." schrodinger angrily replies “well he is now!"’  _

Stiles clicks send, his phone taking a minute to do it with his poor connection. He clicks out of his messages once again, before just turning his phone off. He relaxes back, letting the sound of his neighborhood seep back into his focus. A dog is barking somewhere in the distance, and that is far more calming than pure silence. Stiles doesn’t even realize he started to doze off until his phone buzzes again. 

Stiles shakes his head, blinking to clear his vision. He reluctantly heads back inside of his room, it being even more stuffy than before. His phone buzzes once again. Stiles clicks it open, moving out of the website on Omegas he had been looking at his messages once again. 

_ ‘That is in poor taste. They would both dislike that representation of their theories.’  _

_ ‘Stiles?’  _

Stiles smirks, leaning back against his headboard. 

_ ‘still here. u know u loved it’  _

It had taken Mitch longer than Stiles had expected to respond, but he’s going to chalk that up to it being late and the fact that he’s probably doing something. And besides, he doesn’t want to have to go to bed yet, and if this isn’t here he won’t have a distraction. 

_ ‘Go to sleep, Stilinski’  _

Damnit. Super CIA powers telling Mitch things again. 

_ ‘im fiiiiiinnnneeee. now look whos forfeiting’ _

Powers of distraction…?

_ ‘You have school in the morning. And we can call it a draw.’  _

Failed. Attempting a second try, using teasing. 

_ ‘careful mitch, it seems like u care. that’s not allowed. and neither are ties’  _

Hopefully, this would be an incentive for Mitch to keep texting. Or stop in annoyance, giving Stiles something to feel smug about. Both are equally appealing at this point in time, which is actually surprising since Stiles loves one-upping people with general over talkativeness. But he’s having fun. 

_ ‘dolphins only sleep with half their brain. let’s just be dolphins.’  _

It’s a protection maneuver to make sure predators can’t get them, and also so they can keep breathing. And yeah, Stiles thinks that sounds incredibly useful. 

_ ‘Dolphins also never chew their food. So I guess that fits.’  _

Stiles grins, victorious. Ignoring the insult because he has outsmarted Mitch this time- 

_ ‘But you still have to turn that half of your brain off.’  _

Stiles sighs, giving in. (Damn. It.) Which gives him more indication than anything else that he should sleep. 

_ ‘dolphins are also supposed to be friendly to humans and animals, so i guess we dont have to follow all the rules’  _

He slides down so he’s laying on his side, flipping the pillow to the cold side. 

_ ‘this doesnt mean u win.’  _

Stiles may be listening, but he is adding in as many digs as possible to make up for not digging his feet in the ground. 

_ ‘Alright, you can win; but I will be calling for a rematch at another point.’  _

Stiles stares at the text for a while. He smiles, small but genuine. He wishes he could say it is because of zoning out, or the fact that Mitch has agreed that he’s won, but he can’t. The idea of some type of commitment, that promise of later, it’s something that Stiles isn’t used to. Not from anyone, least of all Mitch. 

_ ‘ok sore loser. i expect more facts. until u creepy stalk tomorrow, dolphin henchman #3’ _

Stiles needs to go to bed because he’s 90% sure his ceiling laughed at that one. Or maybe it’s just apologizing for being rude earlier. Stiles clicks his phone off, setting it down. He’s drifting off, mind low enough on the volume setting that he can crash when his phone buzzes twice. He looks at the pop-up, not moving. 

_ ‘Night, Stiles.’  _

_ ‘PS. Dolphins are the only other mammals that have sex for pleasure besides humans’  _

Stiles’ face does not heat up. It doesn’t.

  
  


Meanwhile, in a hotel halfway across town, Mitch is realizing that he is  _ very _ screwed as he looks back and snorts at the horrendous puns Stiles sent. There is no way this is going to end well. 

  
  


Stiles turns the page on his print-out, side-eyeing the pissed off man beside him. Mitch had been talking all afternoon. Which was not normal, in the least. Not I’m-trying-to-piss-you-off-talking, or I-know-something-you-don’t-talking, or even I’m-going-to-confuse-you-by-being-concerned-or-playful talking. Just keeping to the details of what they are working on. 

They had agreed to meet in Mitch’s hotel room, where Mitch had been setting up a string board that would make high school Stiles proud. Which Stiles is now, but that’s beside the point. Stiles had been telling him where to put things and important plot points that they still have to somehow keep while changing others. Just overall hijacking Mitch’s operation. Surprisingly, instead of telling Stiles to knock it off, he had told him to just come and do it himself so they could actually get something done. 

Stiles had been a bit awkward about it, actually having gotten enough sleep to lose a little bit of I-don’t-give-a-fuck, but that quickly went out the window and crashed onto the pavement when he started interacting with Mitch. Also known as acting so sour it could make Derek jealous. Mitch grumpy is something Stiles is not used to, so it was actually entertaining for a little while. It stopped pretty quickly, and now Stiles just wants to figure out what the heck is going on. 

“What’s going on, Mitch?” Stiles asks cautiously, as cautiously as he can anyway, trying to be casual. 

“Nothing,” Mitch practically growls out, turning back to the box. (Really trying to make Derek,  _ geez _ .) 

“Well obviously it’s not  _ nothing,  _ you practically punched the board ten minutes ago,” Stiles points out, going for reasonable. Mitch looks at him like he’s being completely unreasonable. Stiles is hit with serious déjà vu. 

“I’m assuming you still are going to play lacrosse to keep up appearances and help Scott, so you’ll have to decide how to play off suddenly being good at the game or figure out how to hide it,” Mitch puts the stack of files down, moving around the table opposite of Stiles. The edge to Mitch’s voice is obvious and would be obvious even to Scott. Maybe even obvious to Scott when he’s love-brained, which is  _ seriously  _ saying something. 

“Okay, look, I’m a huge believer in ignoring the problem until it goes away, it’s practically my life motto. It will probably be on my headstone, maybe even the cause of death. But you being like this is wigging me out, so I’m gonna say no on that,” Stiles rambles out the explanation, perfectly aware that Mitch might just choose to not understand him. 

“You ‘ _ wig-out’  _ at any type of change in behavior. There’s nothing  _ to  _ say no to,” Mitch bites out, the jab whizzing past Stiles's ear. It was just an inch away from hurting, which was two miles closer than Mitch usually did. Ten miles closer, as of late. 

“Yeah, well, that didn’t stop Hamilton,” Stiles says back, glaring. There’s no real heat behind the move, but it seems that this is what is going to work right now. Subtlety was never Stiles forte anyways. 

“Leave it, Stilinski. I’m just fine,” Mitch stomps (yes,  _ stomps _ ) over to the kitchenette, grabbing the coffee mug to make more. Stiles is reminded of a little kid, which is so not a helpful comparison right now. 

“I’m calling bullshit. You haven’t called me ‘Stilinski’ in weeks,” Stiles moves over with him, letting the papers flutter down on the desk, keeping at least somewhat of a distance. 

Mitch pauses while at the machine, tense. Because Mitch hadn’t called him that, had he? Maybe teasingly, but it was just another nickname now, last names something to throw at each other. Stiles didn’t even really realize it until it was out of his mouth, but it’s true. Mitch resumes moving, movements even harsher than before. 

“Well, we’ve been stuck here for nearly 4 months now with no progress. We couldn’t even make progress if we wanted to, since we were thrown back too early. Not to mention that we only have a vague idea of what we want to do, which makes it even harder,” Mitch seems to be listing every problem but the one he’s having. Stiles is better at analyzing than people give him credit for, and avoidance is an old friend of his. 

“Yeah, we have. And yeah, that sucks. Hasn’t bothered you before, though. Why now?” Stiles meant it, he’s going to call Mitch on this. He advances forward, moving around the counter. Mitch leaves his cup, turning to face Stiles. He crosses his arms, which Stiles mirrors. 

“Why not now? Why can’t I just be realizing that this is harder than we thought?” Mitch is being some mix of sarcastic and defensive, but Stiles can see it. He actually wants to know why Stiles isn’t believing this. Or maybe why Mitch isn’t believing it. Or maybe Stiles had too much Adderall. 

“You can. But that isn’t what’s going on, is it?” Stiles takes another step forward. Mitch looks down, pursing his lips. So Stiles is right. Good, because he has had enough of being wrong. Stiles uncrosses his arms. He slowly makes his way the rest of the seven feet between them, making sure Mitch can see him. Mitch doesn’t react until he’s right in front of him. 

“What are you doing?” Mitch’s voice is quiet, an almost whisper. He doesn’t move back from Stiles though, Just moves his head. 

“Just- let me try something, okay?” Stiles is quite literally asking Mitch to trust him. Granted, it’s not like Stiles has any weapons and Mitch could definitely stop him even if he did, but that’s still an incredibly blunt statement. Enough that it doesn’t surprise Stiles when Mitch hesitates. 

Mitch nods. 

Stiles doesn’t think too hard about it. 

He reaches his hand up, Mitch watching it out of the corner of his eye, still hunched, but not moving away. Stiles puts it on his shoulder, pausing for just a moment because they haven’t really deliberately touched like this, and even if they had this is different. Then he pulls Mitch in. 

Stiles can’t tell if it’s surprise or adrenaline drop or some strange mix of the two, but Mitch goes easily. There is a slight height difference between them, which hadn’t occurred to Stiles until now. It works pretty well for the hug. (Holy heck he’s hugging Mitch what the actual hell is he  _ thinking _ ?) 

It’s awkward, Mitch still crossing his arms while Stiles has only one hand around Mitch’s shoulders. He expects him to pull away, or even maybe punch him, but nothing happens for a few seconds that feel like an actual eternity. Stiles is pretty sure dying of embarrassment  _ is  _ in fact possible.

Mitch hugs him back. His arms uncross, moving so they are resting on Stiles’s lower back. Stiles is the shocked one now, but he doesn’t let that show, just moving his hands so they go under Mitch’s arms. They stay that way for a second, neither of them entirely sure what to do. 

Stiles internally scoffs. This is a hug. Stiles may not be great at people, but he knows how to do this. He wraps his hands tighter around Mitch’s shoulder blades, moving his head so it’s a little less stiff. Mitch moves along with him, Stiles initiating the move making it easier to pull him closer, resting his head on Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles’s mind wanders to the fact that everyone goes to the left for kisses and hugs. 

And it’s easy. It should continue to be weird, or uncomfortable, or have an urge to pretend this never happened, but it isn’t. Not for Stiles. They just stay that way. It’s almost natural, when Mitch moves his head to the side, the space behind Stiles’s ear right there. 

Stiles had gotten used to a lot of scenting, what with living with tactile people, tactile  _ werewolves  _ no less. Most of the time, it was saved for family or partners,  _ maybe _ friends, who hadn’t seen each other in a long, long time or, very rarely, needed comfort after something awful(Like, funeral awful). Werewolves, however, used it as a way to more deeply gauge how others are feeling. As a fond gesture to say good job. Heck, they use it as a friendly hello. Stiles had spent a lot of the last 4-5 years of his life being scented and scenting since even the humans in his life had picked it up. 

So it’s automatic to scent back, even if Mitch was probably doing it accidentally. Mitch startles, just a little bit, small enough that Stiles wouldn’t see it if they weren’t in such close proximity. But this is just another boundary they’re breaking. The time barrier wasn’t enough, apparently. 

Stiles gets that tinge of anger from Mitch’s scent, a light tang that Stiles can almost taste. 

It’s pretty hard to get emotions from scent, and Stiles didn’t like to do it or have it done to him. Which is why having Scott and everyone else suddenly able to do it like it’s nothing, without touching him, even being able to do it across the room, had pissed him off. It can be an invasion of privacy.

But all Stiles is wondering is what Mitch is getting from his scent. Stiles doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. They stay for a few more seconds, before pulling away. Stiles knows that his face is probably a bit red(Okay, a  _ lot  _ red), but if Stiles didn’t know any better he’d say Mitch looks a bit flushed as well. Could just be the lighting. Stiles, clears his throat, moving back to the counter and picking up his own forgotten mug. Tea, instead of coffee. 

“It would probably help more if I could actually be on the field during lacrosse games so I can help Scott, at least in the beginning, but I’m going to need an excuse,” Stiles takes it over to the files again. Ignore the problem until it goes away. (Except this isn’t a problem, is it?) 

“Right, of course. Maybe say you’ve been training? Could also be a plausible excuse for you to sneak out more,” Mitch finishes brewing whatever it is he decided to make. His voice is a bit rough, a bit quieter than it needs to be. Stiles doesn’t know if this is him letting Stiles take the lead, or making his own decision to ignore it, but either way, they aren’t dealing with this. 

Stiles is really going to have to deal with this soon. 

* * *

Stiles isn’t answering his phone. This should not worry Mitch. Except it does, because he can’t find Stiles.  _ That  _ shouldn’t really worry Mitch either, considering the fact that Stiles knows how to lose someone when he wants too, and Mitch is no exception. Except so far Stiles hasn’t given Mitch the slip. Told him to go away, ignored him, or bantered back and forth with him to try to annoy him away, yes. Actually disappeared? No. 

Mitch has been in his car driving around as inconspicuous as he can, but he hasn’t seen Stiles anywhere. So yeah, he’s worried. 

He gets out of the car, parking at the corner of the street. He tries calling Stiles’ phone again, not caring that this is the 5th time in a row. He had given up on subtlety awhile ago. He likes Stiles, and that is going to end in disaster. But Mitch doesn’t want it to end in a disappearing of the face of the earth disaster, so he calls again. 

Voicemail. 

Mitch walks down the street, hurried, knowing that sometimes Stiles would run down here to clear his head. It’s midday, so a few people are out and about, but not many. Mitch considers calling out for Stiles before discarding the idea because of not wanting to draw too much attention, and even if Stiles did hear him, why would he respond? 

Mitch calls again, walking up onto the next block. 

He stops, looking up from his phone. He strains his ears, hearing faint music. 

_ ‘I’m a diva, I’mma I’mma diva, I’m a diva, I’mma I’mma diva’  _

Mitch blinks, before taking off down the street towards the alley on the other side. There is only one person he knows who would use that obnoxious of a song for a ringtone, and it rhymes with Biles. 

He gets to the mouth of the alley, dark and smelling of dead things. But there’s also a hint of rain in the woods. 

“Stiles?” Mitch calls out now, a bit panicked. He moves down between the two buildings, going around a dumpster. 

There, leaning against a wall, is Stiles. Mitch runs forward now, shoving his phone in his pocket. 

“Stiles.” Mitch’s voice is quieter, crouching down in front of him, putting a hand on Stiles's neck to check for a pulse. Stiles moves, shaking awake on top of the shaking he already had. He doesn’t seem to be aware. His eyes are misty, and his breathing is still ragged. His neck is hot to the touch, and Mitch would bet anything that his head is even warmer. Stiles always ran cold, leftover from a lot of events in his life, and that stayed the same when they came back. Now though, he’s burning up. 

“ _ Stiles.”  _ Mitch's voice is insistent, a bit louder but not yet normal volume. Stiles seems to look up at him, foggy. His hands move up, almost vibrating. Mitch’s hand is still on his shoulder. Stiles’s breathing is still too fast, and he probably fell down from lack of air. If Stiles doesn’t start breathing normally it’s going to start to cause some problems. But he’s still unresponsive. 

“Alright, up,” Mitch looks back and forth around the alley before shifting to the side to pick Stiles up in a princess carry. Stiles murmurs lowly, but Mitch can’t understand it. He catches a few syllables, but not enough for it to make sense. 

He makes his way down the alley again, a hand under Stiles's legs and back. One of Stiles’s hands comes up to grasp Mitch’s shirt, the other limp. Mitch moves quickly, as quickly as he can carrying 147 pounds of dead weight without jostling him too much, and makes it to his car again. 

Mitch’s relatively sure that the lady on her balcony saw them, and considering how connected this town is she’s probably going to mention it to the Sheriff. He can’t think about that now though, not when something is up with Stiles. 

Mitch puts Stiles in the back seat, laying him down across the seats. This time Stiles’s murmur is legible as ‘seatbelt’. Mitch lets out a breath. If Stiles is still somewhat coherent, then Mitch can most likely handle it. Hopefully. 

* * *

Stiles feels strange. That’s the only word he feels can describe it. Strange. The last thing he remembers is waking up this morning feeling sick, and then some strange flashes of memory after that, but other than that, nada. He doesn’t want to open his eyes, feeling like there’s tape on them. Stiles does feel better than he did before, that much he can tell. 

Stiles forces his eyes open, prepared for bright light. Instead, it’s dark, with a warm orange tint everywhere. Like from a nightlight. Except Stiles doesn’t have a night light. And that is definitely  _ not  _ his ceiling. Stiles starts to sit up, looking around, when he notices the weights over his body. 

Wet towels, rags, and ice packs are covering pretty much every inch they can. His pant legs are rolled up, and his shirt is laying next to him. The assorted cold lumps feel great, but that doesn’t explain why they’re there. He takes them off, trying to get up again. His legs don’t seem cooperative. 

It doesn’t really matter though, since he hears the door opening. He tenses, looking up to see… Mitch. He looks around again. Yep, this is Mitch’s hotel room. Just in the bedroom, where Stiles hasn’t been. Same awful wallpaper though. That explains that mystery, but it still begs the question as to why exactly he’s here. 

“Mitch?” Oh heck, Stiles’s voice sounds  _ wrecked.  _ Mitch looks up, his brow creased. When he sees Stiles sitting up though, he doesn’t stay stationary for very long. 

“You’re awake,” Stiles is about to respond with something snarky when Mitch is hugging him. Words suddenly stop working, once again. They had gotten more casual with their touching, Stiles will only admit when feeling defensive, but randomly without a reason is new. And also, Stiles is shirtless. 

Mitch pulls back just as quickly as he had gone in, but Stiles is still feeling a little speech impaired. Luckily for him, Mitch is talking. 

“You had a really high fever. It’s gone down now, but it was too high for a while,” Mitch sits on the edge of the bed, once again a respectable distance away. 

Stiles’ tongue seems to be in a more agreeable mood now, so Stiles asks, “Hence the cold brigade, right. But that doesn’t explain why I’m here?” The light and the dark make soft contrasts over Mitch’s face, highlighting the angles of it. Not enough to make him look severe, just dramatic mood lighting. Stiles’s brain cannot figure out how it feels about that, so he focuses on slipping his shirt back on. 

“You weren’t answering your phone, and I couldn’t find you anywhere. You were in an alley, probably went in there, and then passed out. I brought you back here so I could figure out what was going on,” Mitch drops the rags and such on the side table, which he must have gathered without Stiles noticing. His legs are much more agreeable as well, so he brings them up, leaning his elbows against his knees. 

“Well, thank you for that,” Stiles tries to rack his brain for those memories but finds they just aren’t there. A swirl of panic goes through him at that. He hates being sick. Being out of control, so loopy you can’t remember, feeling awful, it all reminds him too much of the nogitsune. He focuses on the differences instead. The difference is he’s in a pretty nice hotel instead of a psych ward, he isn’t being possessed by an evil fox spirit, and it’s Mitch here instead of Malia. (Nope, not keeping that comparison. No siree. Next) 

“Careful, though. Might just think you care,” Stiles’ voice is teasing, hoping to move on from the heavy stuff. He’s had enough in the last lifetime, no need to do that in this one. 

He looks up at Mitch again. His eyes are darker in this light, more intense. Stiles means to come off as simply banter, but he can’t bring himself to smile with Mitch’s gaze on him. “I do care, Stiles,” Mitch’s eyes are imploring, his head cocked to the side, long hair falling onto his face. Mitch means it.

And that is exactly the last thing Stiles wants. 

Mitch has been practically the only thing keeping Stiles grounded in the present. Literally. It was stupid for him to think he wouldn’t get attached. And he is. Attached. But Mitch wasn’t supposed to care, that wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen. Because Mitch has to be opposite Stiles. If they can’t find a way around the nogitsune and the ghost riders, or if Stiles himself goes  _ too far,  _ Mitch has to be the one to stop him. Stiles has to be the one to save everyone from everything else, and Mitch has to save them from Stiles. And Mitch caring is not a part of that equation. 

Stiles should look away. Should stop this. If not for the fact that this is a terrible idea, then for the fact that he can feel himself spiraling. He can feel that he has to bring himself out of this, but he can’t. He can’t look away, and he can’t stop. 

Why did this have to happen? Why couldn’t it have been something else, or for the nemeton to take his original deal? He’d sacrificed himself for his dad, and he’d do it for the pack too. But no. She had to send him back to try to fix every mistake that had happened and will happen and then she had to include  _ Mitch  _ in this situation who Stiles hadn’t even talked to before then but now they’ve spent six months working around each other and becoming friends except that label doesn’t really fit and now Stiles doesn’t know what he’s going to do-

Mitch is kissing him. 

Okay, that’s new. Stiles is shoved down the stairs and out the door of his thoughts, knocking the vase over on his way out. Mitch’s lips are firm and surprisingly soft, making Stiles aware of how chapped his are. Mitch is there and gone in a few seconds, much like the hug. It leaves Stiles blinking at him dumbly. 

“You were thinking really loud,” Mitch says in lieu of explanation for suddenly turning the world on its axis and making it pole dance. 

“What is it with people and using kisses to stop me from thinking?” Of course, Stiles says something stupid in response. His brain is on autopilot. And it is actually a question he wants to be answered, since this is the second time it’s happened. 

“What?” Mitch is the one to look confused now. Right, CIA magic files probably wouldn’t include dusty locker room kisses. Or maybe they do and Mitch just skipped it. He doesn’t know. 

“Nothing,” Stiles moves his head, trying to shake his thoughts back into an understandable order. “Just. Uh,” Stiles moves so he’s sitting cross-legged, hands resting in his lap. His eyes land on Mitch’s hands, one of which was touching his face a few seconds ago. It had felt cold on his cheek; whether the heat was from the kiss or his fever is unclear. 

“I think I have an idea for the plan,” Mitch says, interrupting Stiles' very different thoughts in a very different way. Stiles looks up again. 

“There is also ice cream in the mini-fridge, which is complimentary,” Mitch offers, trying and kinda succeeding at casual. He does better than Stiles would. Avoiding. Right. Something they are both experts at. Stiles can do that. 

“Any ideas are good. And you better have two tubs.” 

* * *

Mitch did not expect to spend his Wednesday night eating Ben & Jerry’s ice cream on the floor with Stiles looking over an old murder case file, but he certainly isn’t complaining. The victim is Laura Hale, also known as Derek Hale’s sister and current Alpha Hale. Because she isn’t actually a victim yet. That is still two months away when Peter Hale rips her in half. Graphicly. 

“So. What’s your idea?” Stiles is looking over another case file about animal attacks in the next town over, seeing if any of them are possibly weres. It’s unlikely, but they have to check everything. 

“Right. So, Peter kills Laura. Derek comes back to bury her. Peter becomes Alpha. Alpha can bite people, and he bites Scott. Scott then meets Allison, who becomes friends with Lydia and Jackson, and in turn, you all have to spend some amounts of time together. Derek tries to help Scott, but instead, Allison then becomes Scott’s anchor. And so on. That is the start of pretty much everything, right?” Mitch is summarizing very roughly, but that’s as much as he has gathered. Stiles nods, licking leftover ice cream from his lips which is not distracting. At all. 

“I know you feel bad about having Scott’s choice taken from him again, but he needs to be a werewolf. You said so yourself. However, having Laura dead and Peter as Alpha complicates things heavily,” Stiles grimaces at Mitch’s words but has to agree. Too many people Scott and the others had saved would die otherwise. He nods at the part about Laura. 

“Yeah, but without Peter as Alpha Scott doesn’t become a werewolf. So we either have to let him kill Laura or we have to find another Alpha and let Peter kill them. Neither of which is great,” Stiles grumbles at the last part, stabbing his frozen chocolate mush pointedly with his spoon. 

“Well, do we?” Mitch asks, pausing for dramatic effect as Stiles looks over at him, raising an eyebrow. Mitch had been spending way too much time with him. “What if we get  _ Laura  _ to bite Scott? And then have them both help stop Peter?” Mitch asks, scooping some ice cream from his much less empty carton. Stiles eyebrows both raise, pure shock making him drop his spoon. 

“That’s- that’s such a good idea, oh my god,” Stiles sounds like he’s half impressed half pissed he didn’t think of it, which is a good combination in Mitch’s opinion. “But how would we get her to bite him? The whole point is kinda that she has better control, and I don’t think they were working on growing a pack,” Stiles adds on, excited at having at least a little bit of a breakthrough on their framework. 

“Well, we could try wolfsbane? A diluted version, so she wouldn’t just go crazy,” Mitch had researched a few different types of aconite, wanting to know what he could do for the bullets. Just in case, because Stiles would death glare at him if he said anything else. (One of the aconites had a historically notable aphrodisiac quality, and Mitch is glad that that only grows in Antarctica). 

“I guess, but what if she does go crazy and kills Scott instead of biting him? We can’t risk that,” Stiles shuts that idea down fast, the idea of having his friend in danger making it a no-go zone automatically. Mitch would want to risk it, but Stiles is calling the shots on this one. 

“Well, this might be crazy, but what if we talk to Laura?” Mitch picks up the paper next to him, having Derek and Laura’s New York address and phone numbers, as well as possible locations for Cora. 

“But the nemeton said we couldn’t tell anyone, remember?” Stiles frowns, picking up his spoon again. 

“No, she said we couldn’t tell anyone from the  _ present.  _ Laura was dead long before that present, so she doesn’t count,” Mitch grins, the loophole that the nemeton left suddenly. Stiles opens his mouth, closes it again, eyes wide. 

“She doesn’t count,” Stiles starts to grin as well. “She could help.” 

“ _ If  _ she believes us. And  _ if  _ she agrees,” Mitch reminds him, not wanting to get his hopes up. 

“Well yeah, but Mitch this could be a game-changer. It could be  _ Laura _ who bites Scott and helps him with his training,  _ Laura _ who deals with Kate,  _ Laura  _ who helps stop Peter,  _ Laura  _ who bites Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, Laura might just be my new favorite person and I haven’t even met her yet!” Stiles is definitely excited now. His hands are flailing about and he doesn’t seem to be paying attention to Mitch directly anymore. 

Mitch smiles at Stiles, grabbing papers and writing things down, trying to figure out how to get Laura on their side. 

Stiles looks up again, a bright grin on his face. His eyes have a glint to them that they hadn’t before, an actual, solid plan making this situation seem just that little bit less hopeless. 

This time, Stiles is the one to kiss him. Mitch is glad he put everything down. He can taste chocolate on Stiles's lips and is sure that Stiles can taste the mint on his. They both pull away at the same time. Stiles is still smiling, just a bit more subdued. Mitch has a feeling they’re going to ignore this one too. 

Mitch gets up, brushing imaginary dust from his pants with a sigh. He looks down at Stiles and holds out a hand. 

“Let’s go get an Alpha, Stilinski,” Mitch just takes a second to once again acknowledge that this is the worst idea in the history of worst ideas. 

“Only alpha I need is you, Rapp.” 

Stiles takes his hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, unless you count Grammarly. My computer ate half my files and I had to rewrite a lot of scenes, but I couldn't do all of them, so if it seems choppy blame at least half of it on that. The original plan was to have way more ABO and plot type things, but c'est la vie. Never written Mitch before, it was fun. If I rewrite or somehow recover the files, I will probably post them as separate oneshots in a series.


End file.
